Page 85 of Lennox Lane

“Lennox, I’m too charming to be a thief. ”

“You’re violent.”

“And yet you’re still sitting here,” she stuck her tongue out to tease him.

“I make poor choices.”

Lane paused with a fry halfway to her mouth. “That is the most self-aware thing you’ve ever said.”

Lennox’s thigh pressed against hers helped her mood more than she wanted to admit. He seemed incapable of not touching her for longer than five minutes. If she shifted away to reach for a napkin, he pouted. A grown man moonlighting as a hacker with government-level skills and underworld infamy, pouting because her knee wasn’t touching his. Lane watched it happen the third time and nearly choked on her water.

“What?” he asked.

“You pout.”

“I do not.”

“You absolutely do.”

“Girl, I’m grown.”

“Grown people pout, and your ass is proof.”

He leaned back, offended. “I’m affectionate.”

“You’re clingy with perfect teeth.”

“I like touching you.”

Her face warmed at how plainly he admitted it. No performance or slickness—just truth.

Lane looked down at her plate. “I noticed.”

“You mind?” He asked,

She swallowed. “Not tonight.”

His smile softened. “Then come here.”

“I’m already beside you.”

“Closer,” he demanded.

“You are very needy for a man with this much audacity.”

“Only with you.”

Lane should’ve rolled her eyes harder. Instead, she slid a little closer until her thigh rested fully against his. Lennox’s arm settled around her shoulders, and the satisfied little exhale he released should’ve annoyed her; it only made her stupidly warm.

They talked between bites. Small things at first. Favorite movies. Bad first dates. The worst food trends they’d ever endured. Lane learned that Lennox hated watermelon with a passion, bordering on moral outrage. Lennox learned Lane believed raisins in potato salad should result in community exile. Then somehow, over the last few fries and half a slice of sweet potato pie, they wandered into childhood.

Lennox told her he’d played basketball seriously. Not just good-for-the-neighborhood good. Not just tall kid who could dunk by sophomore year good.

Top pick good.

“Wait.” Lane turned in the booth to face him. “You’re telling me you could’ve gone pro?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.. Coaches and scouts were showing up at every game. My father had people talking NIL before NIL was legal.”